


To Be Something

by myomichan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Character Death, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein, Sad, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myomichan/pseuds/myomichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt has always dreamed of being something. But sometimes, being remembered is enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Something

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (published) SnK fic. Sorry for the feels in advance. (You can take it. I believe in you.)

 

Once upon a time there was a young boy who dreamed of being known.

He wanted to _be_ something. Long before his playmates were learning their letters, he was reading books yeas beyond his level. He loved to learn, he loved to speak, and he loved to write.

He wanted to _be_ something.

He was Marco Bodt, and he wanted to _be_ something.

 

* * *

 

He worked hard.

He grew into a strong young man. One of the top of his class. He made friends. He made connections.

If they hadn't gone to war, he would have gone into politics.

But the drafts came, and so he went to serve his country.

It was 1941.

 

* * *

 

It was tough, but he made it.

He survived.

He and his squadmates were alive.

It had been horrible. Landing on enemy banks was basically suicide, and they all knew it. Their numbers didn't matter. Hundreds of little boats filled with soldiers sent to the beach, and only a few had made it safely. Gunshots whizzing by, grenades exploding all around them, and somehow, they had made it.

He turned, breathless, gun still held to shoot at a moment's notice, to face his friend Jean.

"You need to lead us."

Jean blinked back. Marco knew what was going through his head. Kirschtein was pale, and sweaty, covered in dust and soaked in mud and caked in blood and marked by cuts and bruises. Behind them, Connie and Eren were making their way towards them. Armin was cowering behind a banked boat, knuckles white and tightly clenching his gun. Bertholdt and Reiner were missing. Marco hoped they had somehow made it into the forest.

"Jean." He didn't touch his friend. He didn't need to. Jean slowly met his eyes.

"If this war hadn't happened..."

"If we win this war," Marco replied, "You can still be a politician." He smiled. Somehow, he managed to make it genuine. "We can run for office together. But right now, we need a leader, and that has to be you, Jean."

Nodding numbly, Jean turned -- painfully slowly -- towards the treeline. He cleared his throat.

"Everyone, we need to push forward."

"Are you crazy?!" Connie yelled back. After a nudge from Eren, he lowered his voice. "We won't make it out alive. Everyone knew we weren't even supposed to clear the beach."

"We can at least scout the area." Nodding towards Armin, Jean turned to Eren. "Snap him out of it." Eren hurried to his friend's side. "Bertholdt and Reiner made it to the forest. If we can meet up with them, we'll figure the rest out after."

"We can't," Armin said softly. They turned to him. "Not just them... Annie, too... They're spies. They knew... The reason the enemy knew exactly where we were, how many there would be..." His voice broke. "They're traitors."

Jean ground his teeth together, processing this information.

"Then let's just get the Hell out of here," he said finally.

"The ocean won't be safe," Eren said. "They sank our ship. They'll be patrolling to look for subs."

Jean took in a deep breath.

"Then we just have to go on land." He spoke with finality, and they all knew it was true. There would be no rescue attempt from the sea. The ocean was certain death. So was going inland.

"I'll kill them," Eren muttered. " _All_ of them."

 

* * *

 

The forest was large and near the mountains. Following Armin's advice, they made their way towards them, dodging patrols and avoiding open areas, traveling at night. Their rations had long since run dry. They lived off any food they could scrounge up, any water they happened across, and willpower.

When they reached the mountains, they climbed. Higher up, it was safer. They caught game and cooked it during the day, the fires they made barely enough to cook their food. They never stopped to eat while it was still warm: they stomped the fire out and pressed onward, lest they be found. They covered their tracks as best they could, and ducked and ran whenever they heard a plane fly over.

Marco knew Jean was their best bet at surviving. He was quick-thinking, strong, and he was a natural at leading them. Connie kept their spirits up with his jokes, and Armin kept them alive with his sharp assessments and intricate knowledge of the landscape. Eren kept them motivated and focused.

And Marco?

He wasn't sure what he did. He was there. He supposed he kept everyone together. He smoothed out Eren's and Jean's bickering. He kept everyone calm and collected. He saw to everyone's scratches and wounds and did his best to fight off infection. (If Connie's arm was any indication, the herbs he'd used to make salves for their open cuts were working wonders.)

He had a place here, even if he wasn't sure what it was exactly.

 

* * *

 

Of course, they'd all known it was only a matter of time.

Armin was keeping watch in the daytime. He saw something down the mountain a little ways.

Then the gunfire.

They could only go higher up. They ran, ran with all their might. They didn't dare fire off returning rounds; that would give their position away.

Even though they'd be found, anyway.

"There's a cliff ahead!"

"Jump!" Jean said. "Unless you'd rather get shot!"

Marco swore he saw Annie before he jumped off the edge, but he couldn't be sure.

 

* * *

 

 The water was quick and the rocks were sharp.

He crawled onto the bank on the side, coughing up water. He was sure he'd traveled miles in the river -- rapids, really, was probably a more accurate term -- before finally being able to fight the current and pull himself out.

He didn't see anyone else. He'd lost sight of the others.

He stood, ignoring the sharp pain in his left arm and the aching in his muscles.

He had to move. Quickly.

He had to find the others.

He had to find Jean.

 

* * *

 

Eren had pulled himself onto the other side. He somehow still had his gun. Marco had lost his almost as soon as he hit the water. After yelling to each other and giving up after realizing the rushing water drowned out their voices, they moved simultaneously downstream. They walked for quite some time until they found Connie, clinging to a large rock in the middle of the rapids. Eren somehow mustered up the strength to hop back in the water and practically drag the bald young man back to the other side of the rapids.

They didn't find Armin or Jean. They walked until the sun had set, until their limbs couldn't hold out any longer, and they did their best to find comfortable resting spots.

Marco fell asleep, begging whatever Gods were out there that their friends were still alive.

 

* * *

 

They were.

Three days later, they all met at a place right before the rapids split into a fork. Armin's ankle was broken. Jean was basically unharmed, though.

Across the way from them, Marco couldn't help but grin. Jean grinned back.

They agreed (nonverbally, and after many misinterpretations) that Marco would swim over to join them the next day.

They decided to catch some quick shut-eye before this.

 

* * *

 

He never got to sleep.

Soldiers -- they had no idea if they were the same ones as before -- were marching along on Marco's side. His friends had already spotted. Once they found Marco, it would be over.

Without pausing, he leapt into the rapids, let them carry him further down a bit, and took the fork closer to his friends.

Jean screamed his name. Marco shook his head.

His friend's eyes widened.

He understood.

Armin and Connie pulled Jean into the cover of the forest, Eren protecting them, gun held at the ready. He shot twice, taking down two of the enemy, before silently meeting Marco's eyes. Eren's green eyes were full of anger and turmoil, but then he turned around and dashed into the forest.

Marco knew the guns were turned on him now.

He was going to die.

Eren's eyes flashed in his mind, along with Connie's and Armin's. Others, too, from back in boot camp, and even before leaving. His teachers. His parents. Mina, Shadis, Annie, Thomas, Mikasa, Franz, Daz, Christa, Reiner, Ymir, Bertholdt, Sasha.

Jean.

He wasn't going to be famous. He wasn't going to be rich. He wasn't going to be internationally recognized, or be credited with discovering something new and advanced. He wasn't going to be the politician he'd always dreamed of being. He wasn't going to become a hero. He wasn't going to be known for centuries.

He closed his eyes. Felt the grenade go off by his side, felt the burning, the searing pain and then near-instant numbness. Everything was fading quickly. He was dying. He was dead.

But he would be remembered.

That was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> See? You made it. It hurt, but you made it.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it, even if you probably hate me for it! XD


End file.
